Sweeping the Competition
by mundane-pansycakes
Summary: AU: Maxon thinks his true love is in the hand-picked set of 35 girls laid out before him. But when he notices the new maid, a young, fire-haired, beautiful girl, the other girls are practically invisible to him.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1:

The Selection has started, and I'm standing outside of the palace.

Oh no, it's not what you think. I'm not in the stupid contest - I didn't even enter, though May practically begged me to. I received a job there as a maid, one that will pay much more than my random singing gigs. Though I hate to leave my music behind, as well as Aspen and my family, I know it's the right thing to do. My family won't have to spend money on me anymore; maybe they won't be hungry with one less mouth to feed.

The gates open wide and two guards escort me inside, flanking me on either side. One carries my small suitcase - full of the few clothes and belongings I own - and the other holds a rifle vertically. Though I haven't heard much, it seems as if the rebel attacks are becoming more frequent. By the looks of the stiff guard to my right, I can tell these rumors are true.

The palace is stunningly large, with extravagant windows and lovely carpets, golden frames and spotless floors. It's quite shocking, actually. Life as a Five has not prepared me for such luxuries.

Even though I'm serving as a maid, my room isn't horrible. There's a twin sized bed with a comfortable mattress, warm blankets and fluffy pillows. There's even a small desk and cushioned chair stuffed inside the room. It's not heaven, but it's much better than anything I had at home. I mean, the sheets are silk. _Silk. _

I fold what little clothes I have into the desk and find the closet stocked full with uniforms. Since I'm supposed to start today - as the contestants of the Selection are arriving this afternoon - I slip into one of the cotton dresses and twirl my hair into a bun. I take a look in the small mirror on the wall. I'm not exactly happy with my appearance as a maid, but it doesn't sadden me, either. It can't be _that _bad. At least the food will be good.

—

Hours later, I'm being initiated as maid by helping a skinny little brat into a red dress another maid - Lucy, I believe - made for her. I've been assigned to be this girl Celeste's maid for the whole of the contest. She's tall and beautiful, with gorgeous brown hair, and a whole library of magazine covers. Apparently she's a famous model, though I've never heard of her.

"What the hell?" she snaps, jumping away from my touch as I start to fix her hair.

"I'm sorry, _miss, _I was just trying to do your hair." I want to slap her, as she's been a complete bitch for the past few hours, but I hold it in. The last thing I need is to be fired on my first day. _Think of your family. Think of the money. _

"You don't touch me unless I give you permission to. Got it?" she snarls, flipping her hair over her shoulder as if to punctuate her point. Ugh. It makes me want to barf.

"Yes, _miss." _The sarcasm angers her, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she finishes getting ready on her own, not desiring my help. She lets Lucy do her makeup, though. Anne fixes the fit on her dress. And I wait patiently near the door, watching and trying to learn.

When Celeste feels as if she looks like Prince Maxon's perfect wife, she heads downstairs. Not as if she'll meet him today. That won't come till tomorrow morning, I'm told. But she still is eager to impress - which apparently means showing as much cleavage as possible.

"America, why don't you go down the Prince's room?" Anne suggests after Celeste is long gone.

"What?" I ask, stunned. Why on earth would I, of all people, be sent to the Prince's room? He's important. I'm not. And I'm _new. _ I barely know how to iron a shirt, let alone the _prince's _shirt.

"He will be gone for a few hours, attending dinner with his family and then business with his father. Usually the head maids take care of his room, but they're all busy with the Selection. And since you're just learning the ropes, you'll have at least 3 hours to get adjusted to the system."

"But, I can't do that _alone. _I … I don't know anything." Even if I had 3 hours to clean his chambers, it would be impossible without some guidance. I've cleaned at my house before, but those were basic chores. I've never had to dust silver vases and fold silk sheets. This is completely different.

"Don't worry, Lucy will come with you and show you the basics. You need to learn sometime. Might as well start when the whole castle is preoccupied."

It's not like I couldn't turn down the offer - Anne would understand my fearfulness. But I feel like doing so would be the wrong move. Besides, how bad can it be? It's just a bedroom. I've cleaned my own before. I can handle it, right? _Right? "_Fine."

"Come on, we don't want to waste time," Lucy chimes in, gesturing towards the door. Anne gives me a reassuring nod before Lucy pulls me out of the door and leads me to the Prince's room.

—-

We've been cleaning for two and a half hours when Lucy gets called on by Anne for help. I sigh, left alone in the Prince's large room, and continue my dusting. The place is nearly spotless by now, but I still feel worried the Prince will be angered with my job. It's not that I care about his opinion - he's nothing but a high-class spoiled jerk who's going to ruin 34 girls' lives. But if his opinion reaches the king, there goes my job.

I scrub furiously in an attempt to make the desk shinier.

I hear footsteps entering and figure it's just Lucy coming back. Or one of the other maids, volunteering to help. "Do you think you could pass me that rag?" I ask, not bothering to turn my head. A second later, a rag is dropped down beside me and I use it to finish off the job. "Thanks."

"Of course," someone replies, but it's definitely not Lucy. Or any of the other maids.

The voice is male.

I turn around and fight back a shriek when I realize how utterly and completely stupid I am. How idiotic and foolish I was to think it was _Lucy. _This is the _Prince's chambers. _Who else would be standing in front of me, handing me a washrag, but the Prince himself?

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

I stand up immediately and give a slight curtsey, unsure of what to do. "Uh, g-, so-, um," I mutter, sounding like a complete idiot as I search for the correct words. I take a deep breath and steady myself. "Prince Maxon, I'm sorry for speaking to you as such. I thought you were someone else. Please pardon me." I keep my head bowed the whole time, avoiding his eyes. _I'm going to be fire. On the first day. By the _Prince.

Surprising me, he laughs. I look up to him leaning his head back, a carefree smile painted on his face. Is he laughing at the pure stupidity of my behavior? At how I stumbled over my words? I feel ever more self conscious as he gives me a once-over, his eyes trailing across my maid's outfit and tangled, red hair. "It's nothing to worry about, my dear. Now, what is your name? I haven't seen you here before." I'm slightly shocked by the gentle tone in his voice. The way he doesn't seem to care that I just _asked him to hand me a rag. _

"A- America. Singer," I mumble, stunned. "America Singer," I repeat more confidently, lifting my chin ever so slightly. My cheeks flush red as he smiles once again.

"A lovely name, really. What is a Five doing here as a maid?" he asks, walking over to his freshly cleaned bed, credit to me, and takes a seat, folding his hands in his lap.

"How'd you know I was a Five?" I ask. Sixes are maids, not Fives. I'm only here because of the necessity for money. The drop down to a Six isn't as big of a deal if it means not dying of hunger.

"Your name. Very . . . artsy, don't you think? I suppose you're in the music business? Play any instruments?"

I squint at him, wondering what he's getting at. Shouldn't he just dismiss me? Or yell at me to finish up the job? Why is he even bothering to talk to me?

"Oh," I purse my lips. "I was a singer back in my hometown. And I play a few different instruments. But I wasn't getting enough gigs to support my family. The job offer to be a maid during the Selection was open to all Castes, and I, uh, really needed it." I don't know why, but I feel the need to add, "For my family." Justification, perhaps, for the foolish chores I'll be doing around the castle for the next month or two, or at least until the Selection is finished. Maybe longer, if they like me.

"Very noble of you, America," he says, smiling. I can't tell if it's genuine or if he's making fun of me, mocking the fact that I have to _work _for a living where all he has to do is pick a wife from a sea of perfumed girls.

"Thank you, Prince Maxon," I reply. There's a long silence and I stupidly — _very _stupidly — burst out, "Why are you back so early? Shouldn't you be on The Report?"

He raises his eyebrows at my inquiry, but doesn't seem offended. Just shocked at my bluntness. "I won't lie. I felt a little . . . faint and decided to sit this one out. The weight of the Selection is starting to sink in." He gives a short laugh and I'm not sure whether to smile or stay frozen in place. I opt for the latter. "What would you do, if you had to choose between 35, randomly-selected boys, Ms. Singer?"

I'm a bit startled by the question, but I try to answer honestly. What _would _I do if I was in his place? "I wouldn't. I'd choose the person I actually cared about over all of them. A contest shouldn't bind my love."

He studies me for a moment and I feel self conscious once again. His eyes rake over my face and they linger on my lips. I bite them in an attempt to shift his gaze. He blinks rapidly before looking away. "And who would that person be, if you don't mind me asking?"

I shift uncomfortably, though I guess I should have seen this question coming. I set myself up. "His name is Aspen. He's a Six back home. He . . . he just got drafted." Saying so aloud makes me shiver, remembering the way his lips brushed mine, sitting high in the cool branches of our secret hideout. The look on his face when he told me he was going to war, possibly to never return. I can only pray that he does. I will wait for eternity, as long as he returns home safe to me.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Prince replies, startling me with his compassion. "I wish I had that kind of love. I'm afraid that I won't find it in the Selection. My father did, but I'm not so positive."

"You can't search for love. It finds you."

His eyes lock with mine and I get a tingling sensation in the back of my neck. "Indeed it does." He keeps his gaze on me for a moment longer before pulling away. "Well, you must be very tired. Why don't you get to bed, dear? I'm sure you could use the rest."

He walks over to the door and pulls it open for me, though that should be _my _job. But I don't question. I just curtsey and walk outside, murmuring my gratitude as he shuts the door.

The whole way back to my room, I swear my cheeks are on fire.

**Okay, so sorry if I got the details wrong. I don't own the book (l got it from the library) so please correct me if some facts are wrong. Anyway, R & R. I hope you enjoyed! Will update within a week. **


	3. Chapter 3

"_Where_ have you been, you stupid Five?" Celeste barks at me when I reach her quarters. She's just returned from The Report and Anne is already helping her get undressed. Her hair, piled up in intricate curls, is being plucked at by Lucy, who's holding bobby pins in her mouth.

"I was cleaning the Prince's chambers," I murmur.

"And _why? _You're supposed to helping _me, _bitch, not the Prince," she snaps as Anne slides the gown off of her body, then hands her a nightgown. She slips it over her head, not bothering to give Lucy a warning. She drops the bobby pins in shock and hurries to scoop them off the floor.

"I'm sorry, but the Prince is a little bit more important. Priorities, ma'am," I snarl, trying to keep calm. One day with Celeste and I'm already going mad. How will I last months with her, provided that she remains in the competition?

"Your priority will be finding something a new job if you don't listen to me," she barks back, turning away from me and sifting her fingers through her hair. "Now leave me alone. I don't want to see your hideous face for the rest of the night. Wake me up at 6:30 _on the dot _and have a hot bath ready for me. Got it?"

"Yes," I growl, turning back towards the door.

"Oh, and don't think that you won't be punished for this. I'm sure to tell the Prince all about my _horrible _maid tomorrow at breakfast. He'll just be oozing with sympathy for me." I can hear her smile, hear the mischief in her eyes as she plans to take me down. Little does she know that the Prince has already met me, and - I'm nearly positive - likes me.

I don't reply, but instead just head outside, through the corridor, down the stairs, and to my small room.

Sleep comes easily as I think of the way Prince Maxon treated me with sympathy, unlike the harsh figure the news makes him appear to be.

* * *

The next morning, Lucy wakes me at 6 to run the bath while she works on Celeste's dress. I do my chores, help the cranky model ready herself, and then head down to help serve breakfast to the Royal family and the girls of the Selection. Celeste glares at me when I enter the room beside Anne and Lucy, who are carrying pitchers of water, while I handle a basket of bread. "You have to start light," Anne had said earlier in the kitchen as she handed me the bread. Apparently a pitcher was too much for only my second day on the job.

I circle around the table, holding out the basket for each of the girls to grab from. A friendly looking girl I remember from the Report - Marlee, I think her name was - thanks me for the bread, though most of the others blatantly ignore me. Celeste doesn't even look at me.

When I reach the Royal family, I bow to them before holding out the basket for them to choose from. King Clarkson and Queen Amberly take their toast while they continue to talk, but Maxon gives me a small smile. "Had a good night's rest, I hope?"

"Yes, thank you, Your Majesty," I say, curtseying like an idiot in front of hi. He shakes his head and takes a roll from my basket before turning back to his parents.

I walk away, heading back to the kitchen to grab the next tray of food. Just as I'm about to reach the door, a ghastly scream reverberates through the dining room. "Ach!" Celeste cries, throwing down her toast in disgust. "That maid tried to kill me. This bread is _rye. _I'm _highly _allergic to rye bread!" she screams, pointing her finger at me and stepping away from her plate in horror.

King Clarkson locks eyes with me in anger, as do some of the other girls. I dare to look at Celeste, who's still putting on her stupid little show. Despite the pseudo-horror on her face, I can see the glint of a smile in her eyes. The nerve she has.

"Maid, what is the meaning of this?" The King roars, gesturing towards me.

I shake at the sound of his thundering voice, but hold my ground. I lift my chin, try to push away the smirk on Celeste's face. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. But I had no intention of harming Miss Celeste."

"You must know that she is allergic to rye. You have allergy reports on all of the girls in the kitchen," he snaps back, his eyes glaring into me.

"Yes, Sir, but I did not give Miss Celeste the bread. She chose it for herself," I reply, though I almost instantly regret it. Who am I to challenge the King? A stupid Five is nothing against him.

"Are you challenging my word?" he growls. "How da-"

"Father," Maxon interrupts, placing a hand gently on his father's arm. "America meant no harm. I saw it myself. Miss Newsome clearly picked the piece of bread for herself."

The King stares at his son, his eyes fiery. "America, you say? What business do you have with knowing the name of a worthless maid, Maxon?"

Maxon gulps and I suddenly feel guilty, though this isn't my fault. It's all because selfish Celeste couldn't handle blending in with the crowd - she just had to draw attention, and pity, to herself. "She was cleaning my room yesterday, Father. Is it so wrong to ask her name?" King Clarkson looks as if he's about to yell, but Maxon turns and addresses Celeste. "Miss Newsome, I'm sorry for the inconvenience with the bread, but I assure you it was not America's fault. Tomorrow we will ensure that your bread is delivered separately from the basket to guarantee your safety." He says it so calmly that even my anger has sizzled. Celeste looks angered by the fact that I've won this round, but she nods politely. She won't risk her position in this competition to get back at me. "As for you, America," he says, turning to face me. "I apologize for these accusations. Please take the remainder of breakfast off, and we'll see you for lunch. Forgive me for the dispute."

Everyone looks at the Prince in shock, unsure of how to take this news. In fact, _I'm _baffled by his words. He's letting me go without so much as a small punishment, but with a reward instead? I fight to breathe, struggling against the blinding pressure of the situation. "Thank you, my Prince," I finally manage to get out, curtseying low. "I apologize for the mistake. It will not happen again."

"It better not," Celeste barks.

I ignore her, as does Maxon, though I can see a slight look of annoyance building in his eyes. I bow again, this time to the King and Queen as well before exiting the room. I can feel everyone's eyes on my back as I leave, though Maxon's are the only ones I care about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a crazy few weeks. Also, sorry this chap is so short. I will try to have a longer one up soon! **

I'm resting in my room when I hear a knock on the door. After Celeste's accusations at breakfast, a large headache came on. I retreated to my chambers, relieved of my duties by the prince, and tried to rest. Lucy said she'd wake me at lunchtime, but it is impossible that it's noon already. Still, I rise from the bed, my head still pounding, and pull open the thin door.

I'm surprised to find it's not Lucy, but the prince himself. "Oh," I gasp, shocked and embarrassed. My hair is a mess from laying down, and I can practically feel the bags under my eyes. "Prince Maxon, to what do I owe the honor?" I say, bending into an awkward curtsey. When I look up at him, a smile is playing at the corner of your lips.

"I just wanted to make sure you were well," he smiles, stepping into the room and closing the door. I reach out to get it for him, but he shoos me away. "Ms. Newsome can be quite intimidating at times. Are you alright?"

I'm strangely unsurprised by his kindness. Some small part of me almost expected him to check up on me, though it's ridiculous. He's only doing it to be nice. Nothing more. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Please, just call me Maxon," he says, sitting down on the edge of my tiny bed. He winces at the uncomfortable stiffness of the mattress, but remains there. I stay standing.

When he doesn't say anything, I stupidly ask, "Do you need anything else?"

He chuckles, a short, lovely noise that makes my heart jump. "You want to get rid of me so quickly?"

"No, I ju-"

"I'm only kidding, America," he says, tilting his head. "But no, I don't need anything. I just . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I already said that I am," I reply, unsure of what else there is to say. Should I offer him a drink? Bow again? How do I handle the prince in my chamber? "I'm used to Ms. Newsome's behavior." I regret saying so immediately, but, to my relief, the prince just smiles and shakes his head.

"She's quite the handful, Celeste."

"Then why is she still here, if you don't mind me asking?" I know it's a bit rude to intrude on the prince's business, but I can't help myself. He's in full power of the eliminations - if he doesn't like Celeste, he could easily get rid of her.

"The Selection isn't only about love, Lady America." My heart stumbles at the word _lady. _Why is he addressing me as such? I'm only a maid. A _Five. _"It's politics as well. Celeste's family has many connections that would be beneficial for Illéa." He pauses and then look up at me in regret. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that . . . It's confidential. I just . . . I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I say, hastily hoping to comfort him. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"I wasn't worried about that," he laughed, patting the spot beside him on the bed. I hesitated before joining him. It felt strangely normal to be sitting right beside the prince. It felt right. "It's just improper to speak like that. It's unbecoming of me."

I laugh, shaking my head. "It's fine, really. I don't mind a little gossip."

"Really?" he says, tilting his head to the side. "You wouldn't happen to know any gossip about me, would you?"

My smile quickly straightens out and I question what to say. Of course there's loads of gossip on the prince - rumors about embarrassing childhood stories, his feelings towards the girls in the Selection, secrets about his family. But none of it's true. Though one rumor, something Aspen told me so long ago, comes to mind. I know I shouldn't say it, but the desire to hear his response is so strong. "I've heard that you've never kissed anyone before."

His eyebrows spring up and I immediately regret my decision. He's embarrassed. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes cast downwards, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that wasn't, I shouldn't h-"

I start to speak but the words are caught in my throat as he presses his lips against mine. I gasp at the touch of his soft mouth against mine, the way it seems to fit into every crevice. The kiss isn't passionate or lustful - it's delicate and gentle. It only lasts a moment, though it was possibly the most wonderful moment of my entire existence, before he pulls away.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he says hastily, standing up and shaking his head. I rise up beside him, anxious to calm him down, but he's already out the door.

The echo of his lips tingle on mine and I think about the way he interrupted me with his wondrous mouth. A silent conformation to the fact that the rumors had been true - well, until now.

Prince Maxon has now had his first kiss.

And it was with _me. _


	5. Chapter 5

**A long chapter, just as I promised! Hope you enjoy. **

After sitting in my room for what felt like hours after Maxon left, the taste of his lips still lingering on mine, I finally get up and head towards Celeste's quarters. There's an hour until lunch, and I'm supposed to help her prepare.

Lucy's already working on Celeste's hair when I walk in. The model glares at me through the mirror, her eyes narrow and piercing. I ignore it and head over to the closet, where her day dress is hanging. Most contestants in the Selection where the same dress to breakfast and lunch. But, _no_, Celeste has to change for every meal, something about "a true Queen never wears the same thing twice in one day." I don't bother to mention that Amberly usually wears the same dress all day - I figure I've pushed Celeste enough today.

I grab the pink dress, which is covered in a floral print made to look innocent - something Celeste is definitely _not. _"Your dress Miss," I say as Celeste stands up, her hair now pinned in a perfect bun, stray curls hanging loose around her face. Lucy did a wonderful job, but no hairstyle could cover up the hatred in her face. She holds her arms out and I slide the dress over her. After zipping it up, I grab a needle and fix the fit of her waist. She rolls her eyes as I sew the dress, annoyed by my presence, I assume, but I ignore it. When I'm done, she practically storms out of the room, only pausing to let Anne slide a pair of nude heels onto her feet.

"Is she still upset over breakfast?" Lucy asks when she's gone.

"I guess so," I shrug. "She's probably just mad that the Prince didn't punish me."

"You're lucky, you know," Anne chimes in, picking up Celeste's robe from the floor. "The King looked like he was going to murder you. If the Prince hadn't stepped in, you would be packing right now."

"I know," I nod, opening up the door for the other girls. We walk down the hall, towards the kitchen, our steps in unison.

"Why did he do that, anyway? Prince Maxon?" Anne asks, her brows twisted in concentration.

"I think he fancies America," Lucy whispers, her cheeks flushing red.

"Don't be ridiculous! He was just being nice," I lie, although I deeply want to tell the girls about my conversation with Maxon. About the kiss.

"I suppose so," Lucy sighs in defeat. Anne doesn't seem to have an opinion on the matter. "Besides, even if he _did _like America, he'll be stuck with one of these stupid girls in the stupid Selection."

"Lucy!" I shush her, eyeing the guards in the hallway. None of them seem to have cared, let alone noticed. "You can't say things like that."

"But what if it's true? What if the Prince really _did _like a maid? I'm not saying it has to be you, America, but what if? Could he just cancel the Selection? Call it all off and pick the girl he truly loves to be his wife?" Lucy's voice has become dreamy, and I imagine that she's picturing herself as the girl Maxon truly loves. I shake my head at her, giggling.

"It's stupid to think about," Anne adds as we reach the kitchen doors. "It will never happen so we might as well not dwell on it." Lucy purses her lips together, surprised by Anne's sternness, and I suppress a laugh. Shaking my head, I head towards the tray of foods and get ready to work.

* * *

Lunch is excruciating. The whole time I can practically feel Maxon's eyes digging into me, burning into my back as I pour glass after glass of water for the ladies. I try to avoid him as I deliver plates of food to the table. When I'm forced to place a bowl of fruit in front of him, I do so as quickly as possible. I swear whispered something as I did, but it was hard to make out. I dismissed it as an illusion, a hallucinating brought on by Lucy's impossible theories.

It was just a kiss. Nothing more than a simple kiss to dismiss the rumors I'd heard.

Or was it?

* * *

By the time lunch is finished, my mind is exhausted from thinking to much about the prince. Why was he watching me all of lunch? Why didn't he speak with any of the girls? Did he really try to tell me something as I passed him? And if so, what was it? The endless questions haunt me as I head back to Celeste's room

I've nearly reached the bedroom when another maid - I think her name is Mary - comes rushing towards me. "Oh, America! Would you be so kind as to do me a favor?"

Shocked at her franticness, I simply nod my head, "Sure."

"I'm usually in charge of tending to the Prince's needs at this hour, but there's been an emergency regarding one of the girls. I'm needed immediately. Is it possible that you could assist the Prince?" My eyes widen at the preposition. What does that _mean? _Assist him with _what? _The possibilities make my head spin, but I manage a shaky nod. "Thank you so much!" Mary says before storming off in the opposition direction, her hair falling out of her bun as she runs.

_Assist the prince. Tend to the Prince's needs. _The words echo in my mind as I try to decipher just what that could mean. Despite my shock and confusion, I head down the Prince Maxon's chambers. I quickly pat down my dress, fix my hair, and plaster a warm smile on my face, desperate to hide my nerves. I knock on the door.

"Mary, than-" Maxon stops when he realizes I'm not Mary. His eyes grow as he stares at me. I'm too stupid to do anything but stare back at him. My eyes scan over at him and I gasp, noticing that he's dressed in a robe. A _bathrobe. _Is Mary supposed to "assist" him with _bath? _

I take a long, _long, _breath and try to regain my composure. "Uh - Mary had an emergency to take care of. She sent me to help you instead, Your Majesty," I murmur, stumbling over my words. I bow quickly, chewing anxiously on my bottom lip.

"Oh - I see," he says, obviously just as uncomfortable as I am. "Please, come in, America. I was just, um, getting, uh, ready to take a bath." The awkwardness is palpable between us and I fight back the blush I know is rising in my cheeks. "Mary usually, well, helps me with this."

"Oh," I gasp, not really sure what else to say. "Would you like me to get the water running?" That's a start, right? Maybe he only means get things prepared, not actually _help _him with his bath, right? _Right? _

"That would be splendid," he says cheerily, though I can tell the smile is forced.

I quickly cross the room and enter his bathroom, a large, grand one covered in lovely, blue tiles. I get the bath going, testing the temperature, not sure whether he likes it hot or cold. I'm too scared to ask, so I go with hot. I move the carpet in front of the bath's edge, so that he won't spill water all around the bathroom. I pull a fresh set of towels from the closet and set them on the table beside the bath. I even organize the row of soaps and shampoos, not really sure what Mary does to prepare the bath.

Once it's full and still steaming, I reenter into his bedroom. "The bath is ready, Your Majesty." I say, bowing until he replies.

"Thank you, America," he says, walking past me and into the room.

"Will there be anything else?" I ask, not sure what I want the answer to be. _Yes, thank you _or _No, could you please help me further? _

I shiver, waiting for his reply. "No, that will be all." A small bit of me is relieved and starts to turn away, but I stop as I see him peel off his robe from the corner of my eye. He's facing away from me, but I can see the lean muscles of his body clearly. He's so beautiful I almost forget who he is. The _prince. _And I'm just a maid - one who's clearly outstepping her boundaries by staring at the prince as he undresses.

I'm about to turn away when something catches my eye, something I hadn't noticed in the shock of seeing Maxon's beautiful back. Long, red scars line his back, straight lines that criss-cross over each other. Some look old and faded, while others look raw and fresh. The sight shocks me and I gasp. Just as Maxon is about to step into the bath, still wearing his boxers, thank god, he whips his head around and stares at me. "What's wrong?" he asks, noticing the look of horror that must be obvious on my face.

"No-nothing, Your- Your Majesty. I-I'm sorry for the disturbance," I choke out, trying to hide my fear.

"America, what's wrong?" he repeats, now pulling his bathroom back on and walking over to me. His eyes are focused on mine and I struggle to keep my breathing steady. He's so close, his breath warm against me, and _he's worried about me _when I should be worried about him.

When I don't answer he repeats the question again, now placing a hand gently on my shoulder, steadying me. "What's wrong?"

I take a deep breath and try to wipe the image out of my mind. The red lines. The pained flesh. I cringe before looking up into his eyes. I fight to keep my breath steady as I say, "Your back."

His jaw drops in realization and he steps back, swallows. "Oh," he murmurs, turning away from me. "You weren't supposed to see that - I . . . I thought you had left."

"I was going to but . . out of the corner of my eye - I'm sorry, Your Majesty, please forgi-" he places a hand over my lips and silences me and my meager attempts at apology.

"America, stop this. It's not your fault. Please, just stop crying," he says, rubbing his hand over my cheek, wiping away the tears I hadn't realized had started to fall. "I don't know what to do when girls start crying," he says, a smile playing on his lips. Is this a joke to him? Or is he just trying to lighten the situation? Distract me from the truth about those markings on his back?

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," I say, pulling away. This is improper of me, unprofessional. I wipe the tears away and turn towards the door, but his fingers curl around my wrist. I turn around to see his eyes pleading.

"Mary was the only one who knew. That's why she helped me," he admits, his gaze never breaking mine. "She would help me clean and dress the wounds."

I'm silent for a moment before he guides me back to the bath, still talking. "I'm sorry if you're shocked by this or horrified or scared. But please, just _please, _don't say anything. I've been dealing with it for years. It's . . . it's nothing," he explains.

I take a deep breath as he removes his bathrobe once again, this time still watching me. "I promise. I . . . I won't tell anyone," I whisper, unsure of what else to say. It's not like one can bring this issue up with the King. And the Queen must know. Who else would there be to tell that could make it better. He steps into the bath, letting out a sigh of relief as his skin collides with the water. "Do you . . . since Mary isn't here . . . would you like me to . . .?" I don't finish the sentence, mainly because I'm not sure how to end it.

"That would be wonderful, America," he says, a grim smile on his lips. "There's supplies in the cabinet on the top left," he tells me pointing. I follow his finger and grab a basket of bandages and creams out of the cabinet. The first bottle I pick up is empty, another reminder of how many times Maxon must have been through this. I shudder at the realization.

"If you could-" I start, reaching my hand towards his back. He leans forward, familiar with the procedure, and I gently dip my hands in one of the salves. I search his back for the fresh wounds - three long strips right along his spin - and carefully coat them in the medicine. I feel Maxon tense up beneath me but he makes no sound.

When I've finished cleaning the wounds and coating them with thick bandages, he rises from the bath. I turn away as he dresses back into his robe, then silently exit the room. "America, wait," he calls out, my hand reaching for the door.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I . . . Thank you. For helping me and for understanding," he says, though I can tell that's not what he was planning on saying.

Still, I curtsey and smile, "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Please," he says, shaking his head. He walks over to me and places a soft kiss on my lips, shocking me and calming me all at once. "Just call me Maxon."

His face lights up and I stare back up at him. He holds my gaze steadily, but I can't do it. I look away and rush out the door, out of the Prince's room, and out of the Prince's sight.


	6. Chapter 6

"America, America!" Lucy's calling as she bustles through the doorway of Celeste's room. After breakfast, I retired back to the room to work on Celeste's dress for this week's Report. She threw a fit when she found out that another girl was planning on wearing a red dress on Friday, so she demanded I started on another one. "You won't believe it!"

"What?" I ask, barely tipping my head up from the sewing machine. The golden fabric she picked out, though gorgeous, is ridiculously hard to stitch. The dress is going to take me all day, maybe even the some of tomorrow.

"Queen Amberly is taking the girls out of the palace on some sort of trip," she exclaims, pushing my fingers away from the needle.

"So?"

"_So, _the girls aren't going to be back until _tomorrow morning! _We have practically the whole day off - aside from meals and our usual chore," Lucy explains, pulling me off the chair.

"That's great, Luce," I smile. "But I have to work on Celeste's dress. You heard what she said earlier - I can't mess this up. She already hates me enough." As nice as a day off sounds, I can't just put aside my duties. Celeste's complaints could get me fired, and I can't afford that - my family needs this.

"That's ridiculous! You shouldn't have to work on that dress. It's not _your _fault that Elise was bragging about her 'lovely red gown' at dinner last night."

"It may not be my fault, but it's now my problem," I sigh, sitting back down on the stool. I pull the fabric taught and continue stitching the bodice.

But Lucy won't budge. She sits down beside me and leans in close to my ear, whispering in a flirtatious voice, "With all the girls gone, the Prince has nothing to do but sit in his room and_ work _all day. I'm sure he would appreciate some company."

I nudge her in the side and she squirms, but I laugh. "What are you talking about? Lucy, you're being ridiculous."

"Don't play dumb, America," she says, now grabbing my hands and clasping them in hers. I resign and look her in the eyes; I won't be able to work on the dress until she's out of the room anyway. "You showed up to dinner last night _glowing. _And Prince Maxon was looking at you throughout the whole meal. Something's obviously going on."

"Lucy, I . . . " _don't know what to say. _Is it safe to tell her? I know she'd never turn me in or anything, but I'm worried about sharing the secret in general. Speaking it will just make it real. And if it's real . . . then what? "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine," she says, now pushing me off the chair and taking my seat. "But you can't deny I'm a much better seamstress than you are. I'll make Celeste's dress. You can do my chores."

I eye her skeptically, not sure what she's getting at. "And what would those be?"

She looks up at me, her eyes full of hope and excitement and _love. _"Nothing. I told you, I'm all freed up until dinner comes around. Go enjoy yourself!"

"Lucy, I can't take your day off from you. Go, have fun. I'll work on the dress," I say, reaching for the shimmering fabric. But she won't budge. Her petite face is pushed into a defiant expression.

"No way! I'm fine sewing all day - it's calming. You go on now. I'll see you at dinner!"

I try to interrupt her, but she just kicks her legs out, inching me closer towards the door. I sigh and smile at her sweet face. "Thank you, Lucy. I owe you."

She laughs, "Just remember me when you're Queen."

My jaw drops at the preposterous idea and she breaks into a fit of giggles. I can't help but join her - the idea of me, a _maid in the palace, _becoming Queen is so ridiculous it's laughable. With one last shake of my head, I flee Celeste's prison of a room, and head down the halls. I've always wanted to visit the gardens here, but have never had the time. I guess this is the perfect time.

* * *

I've been sitting in the gardens for half an hour. The cool air clears my head, the smell of flowers soothes me. I reach out and touch the smooth surface of one of the plants and smile. It reminds me of home, of the tree Aspen and I used to hide away in. I love the silence of the outdoors - it's more beautiful than any music I could ever play.

"America?" one of the guards asks from his place against the wall.

"Yes, Officer?" I ask, standing up to face him. He's been nice enough to leave me alone during my time here - I wonder what he could need.

"I just received word that the Prince needs your assistance with something."

"Oh," I gasp. _Assistance? _He couldn't have taken another beating, could he? Why else would he call for me? "Of course," I reply, thank the officer, and then rush out of the gardens.

The path to the Prince's room seems longer than usual as my anxiety sets in. Why isn't Mary helping him? Or is it _that _bad? Or is he regretting last night and sending me home? The abundance of possibilities, all of which are bad, flood my mind and hurry my feet.

When I knock on the Prince's door, he opens it with a smile, dismissing all of my predictions. Still, I drop into a low curtsey and wait for verbal confirmation. "America! I'm glad to see that you received my message."

I study him quizzically. Why is he smiling? "Is something wrong? I thought that since you called . . ."

"Oh," he says, comprehending. He gestures for me to step inside, which I do. "No, I'm completely fine. I just . . . I needed you."

I nod and purse my lips. "Did you want something to eat? Or tea? Or is there something else I could get you?" I ask, eager to please him. This is the Prince after all. If he personally asked for me this must be some sort of specific task. I make an extra effort to stand very straight.

"No, my dear," he laughs, closing the door, sealing us in. Alone. "I don't need anything _from _you. I need _you."_

I take a deep breath and meet his gaze. "I don't understand, Your Majesty," I lie. Because I understand perfectly. Clearly. It's so obvious from the look in his warm, brown eyes. I swallow. Hard.

"America, please," he says, stepping closer to me. I take a step back and find my hand on the bed. "Just call me Maxon, okay?"

I nod shakily. "Okay . . . Maxon." The name seems strange on my lips. I've spoken it many times before - when gossiping with May or chatting with Lucy. But I've never called him by his name personally. It feels . . . right.

"America," he whispers before pressing his lips against mine. I immediately melt into him, my arms circling his neck and his snaking up my sides. His lips are sweet, like honey, and they move effortlessly against mine in perfect sync. He kisses me more fiercely and I fall backwards, right onto the bed. _Of course. _The Prince-no, _Maxon-_ isn't phased, he just crawls on top of me and deepens the kiss. I try to hold it in, but a moan escapes me as his lips leave my mouth and work their way down my neck. When they touch the nape of my neck, I gasp. They're so warm and perfect, everything I've ever dreamed of in a kiss.

"Maxon, please," I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm asking. For him to stop? Or to keep going?

He interprets my words as the latter. His hands work their way under my shirt and I shiver at his touch. His lips find mine again and I twine my fingers in his hair, anxious to make him feel the way I do right now. I trace circles on the back of his neck while moving my lips over his cheek and to his ear. I whisper his name and he groans, his hands tightening under me.

A knock on the door freezes us both in place. Maxon immediately stands up, but I remain flat on the bed as the door opens. "Close your eyes!" he hisses and I obey, not sure what he's thinking.

"Prince Maxon, you - Oh," a guard says, probably surveying the scene. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, now it is. This maid was cleaning the room and she fainted! Can you believe that? But it's alright, the doctor is already on his way up."

"Oh," the guard replies without a hint of disbelief. I fight the urge to smile. "Do you know what happened?"

"No, she was just dusting off my desk and then _bam! _she was on the ground. It was quite frightening, but she looks okay. Luckily she fell onto the carpet - she seems to be unscathed," Maxon lies easily.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I just came to deliver these letters to you," the guard says. I hear the shuffle of paper as envelopes, I assume, are exchanged. "Would you like me to check on the doctor on my way back?"

"No, it's quite alright. One of the other guards already went to personally get him."

"Okay, well let me know if you need further assistance. Shall I send another maid to finish cleaning your chambers?"

"I can manage with the dust for the remainder of the day. Thank you though," Maxon smiles, and I hear the click of the door closing. "Well, that was interesting."

I open my eyes and sit up to see Maxon leaning against the closed door, pressing his palms into his eyes. I quickly get off the bed and stand, making my way towards the door. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, that was my fault. I should have never done such a th-"

He stops me once again with his lips, laughing against my mouth. "Will you just stop it with the apologies? It's not your fault, my dear."

I shake my head, pulling away. "I can't do this, Maxo - Your Majesty. I'm sorry. I just," I stumble over my words, unsure what to say. How do I tell a Prince something like this. "I'm a maid, Your Majesty. And you have 35 girls to choose a wife from. I was stupid to think that this was a possibility . . ."

"Hey, wait," he says, cupping my cheeks in both of his hands, forcing me to stare into his cozy eyes. "You weren't stupid, America. I . . . I know that this situation is improbable, but I'm also the Prince-"

"Exactly! You're the Prince and I'm a Five, a _maid."_

"-and as the Prince, I am free to make my own decisions," he continues, disregarding my comment. "There may be 35 girls begging for my affection - well 26 as of now - but none of them are really in the game. You, Lady America, are sweeping the competition, in my opinion. Quite literally, I might add," he laughs, picking at the hem of my maid's uniform.

"Maxon, I don-"

"I order you to stop making excuses!" he teases, pressing his finger against my lips. I hush up and listen, his eyes burning into me. "Please, just hear me out. The Selection is meant to give girls of any caste a chance to be Queen. So being a Five doesn't change anything."

"Yes, but I'm not in the competition, Your Majesty."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean anything. A Prince can change the rules, can't he?"

I look at him, unsure of what he's proposing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says, leaning in so that his lips brush against mine as he speaks. "That if I find none of the girls in the Selection any better fit to be Queen, to be _my wife, _I might be able to bend the rules a bit."

I look at him, astounded. Was this really happening? Is he really saying this? "We just met," I whisper, though I don't know why.

"Yes, but the Selection won't end for at least a few more weeks. I have plenty of time to get to know you - and to see exactly what is in 'The Selection Rulebook.' And, America, if these next few weeks are anything like the past few _days, _I have a feeling I'm going to love them."

I blush furiously and look away, unable to meet his eyes. "I would like that - I mean to get to know you, too. But, how? You spend all your time working, or with the girls. And I'm supposed to be assisting Celeste. I barely ever get the chance to see you, aside from when I'm pouring your wine," I giggle.

"Well, think I can fix that," he says, pulling apart and placing a hand on the door. "Miss Singer, I officially promote you to my personal maid."

"What?" I gasp, shocked. "But that's Mary's job, I could nev-"

"Mary's been here a long time. I'll explain that it's only temporary. She'd be happy to take your place as Celeste's assistant." Maxon's grin is almost devious.

"And what exactly does your personal maid's job description entail?"

"Oh, you'll find out." He smirks and I fall apart inside. "Now go see that doctor. I don't want you fainting again." He closes the door and I fight the urge to _actually _faint from happiness.

The Prince likes me, possibly more than any of the other girls. And he's giving me a chance.


	7. Chapter 7

After three weeks, the number of girls living in the palace has lowered to just 9. Though Celeste is still in that group, I'm not the one dealing with her anymore. My only duty at the palace right now is to serve the Prince - and I have to admit that it's a wonderful job.

I'm cleaning Maxon's room when he steps out of the bathroom, a towel still wrapped around his waist from his recent bath. I look up from his now clean desk and blush at the sight. He shakes his head at my reaction, but I can see the tips of his mouth turning up.

"Do you want me to get your suit?" I ask him, keeping my gaze on the rag in my hand as it swishes back and forth.

"No, that's alright. I have a while before The Report. No need to get dressed so soon," he says. His tone is serious.

"Maxon . . ." I smirk, turning around to face him. He's leaning up against the wall, his chest glistening in the most beautiful way. He just raises an eyebrow. "Dinner's in twenty minutes."

"I told my mother I wasn't feeling well, and that'd I'd have to skip dinner tonight."

I shake my head at him and toss the rag onto the desk, abandoning my job. I'll have plenty of time to clean during The Report, anyways. "What will the girls say?" I ask. I don't want to, but I can't help myself.

Maxon's told me plenty of times that his relationship with the girls in the Selection is purely for show. But that doesn't mean that the kisses he gives them aren't real. Or that their dates are purely boring to him. He still must enjoy their company, their touches, their kisses. It's impossible to think otherwise.

"They'll probably worry about me, but that's no matter," he says. I turn away as he shrugs on a pair of pajama pants before stepping forward and holding a hand out to me. I take it and gently clasp it. He gives it a squeeze. "Sit with me, America." He leads me over to the bed, the lovely, grand bed that I just made minutes ago. He sits down and I follow him. But he doesn't let me get away with just _sitting _beside him. He picks up my legs and swings them across his lap, then pulls me in closer by the waist. He kisses my forehead and I smile at the familiar feel of his lips on my skin. I can't help but reach my hand out and touch his warm chest. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

The question surprises me, so I react how I usually do - try to change the topic. "You may be able to get out of dinner, but I still have to go."

"No, you threw up this afternoon and retired to your room," he lies. I laugh at how easily he has this all figured out. He always has it figured out. "Now tell me something I don't know about you."

I giggle at his stubbornness. I've told him practically everything over the past few weeks - from my family to my hobbies. I even told him about Aspen and our short-lived romance, our dream to get away and build a life together. He didn't even seem jealous, just curious. What else is there to tell him?

There's only one thought in my mind - one singular thing that I have never told him.

I lock eyes with him and give a small smile. I touch his cheek and hope that I'll never have to miss the feel of his skin under my fingertips. "Maxon," I whisper, looking away. It's impossible to hold his gaze. Not when those deliciously dark eyes are boring into me. "I love you."

I don't get the chance to hear his reaction. The sound of the alarm wailing puts us both on our feet. _The rebels. _"Quick, America, come," he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me outside his room.

"But they'll know I'm in here, that we're - - "

"It doesn't matter. Your safety is more important," he practically yells as we run down the corridor. He pushes me flat against the wall before peeking his head around the corner to check for rebels. "There's a staircase to the safe room over there. It's hidden behind that painting," he says, pointing a little bit to the left. Right near a large panel of windows.

If there's one thing I've learned about the rebels, it's that they always have somebody stationed near the windows. If we have to run past them, they're sure to see us. "Maxon, the wind-"

"I know. You go first, and I'll stay behind in case."

"What? No, Maxon, you're more important than me, you're the _Prince, _you can't ju-"

"America, please," he silences me, pressing a finger against my lips. "Just run, okay? I'll be fine."

I swallow hard, and meet his eyes. They're soft and pleading, worried and slightly terrified. I take a deep breath and nod my head. The slightest of smiles fills his face. "Go," he whispers.

I sprint towards where he pointed, towards the tall painting of an Illéan landscape. I hear the sound of a gunshot to my right and run faster. I don't dare to look at where the sound is coming from. I reach the painting and yank it off the wall. It slides away easily and reveals a door. I open it and shuffle inside.

I peek my head out, searching for Maxon, readying myself to open it for him before sprinting away. My eyes settle on a pair wrestling to my right. A rebel is pressed up against the wall, and Maxon is holding him there, trying to strangle him to death. I gasp at the sight of it. It looks like Maxon is going to win - that is until the rebel pulls a gun from his belt. Maxon's too focused to realize it, and I stifle as scream as the rebels fires the shot into Maxon's right leg. He drops the rebel immediately, cringing in pain. The rebel doesn't seem to notice me, as he dashes away from the Prince in the opposition direction.

I rush out of the door and go to Maxon, who's now collapsed on the ground, blood seeping out of his leg. The sight terrifies me, but I try to keep a calm face. "Maxon, Maxon, come on. We have to get up," I tell him, holding onto his face in an attempt to give him strength.

"I can't . . . I can't stand. Go, America. You have to go," he whispers. His voice is wretched with pain and I let out a meager sob.

"No, please, I can . . I can carry you. _Please, __Maxon, __just come with me,_" I cry, wrapping him up in my arms. I struggle to get a hold on him. It's not like he's terribly heavy or anything, but I don't have much experience with lifting. I fumble to hold him in my arms. The weight of him is too much for my weak body to handle. I set him down on the floor again, sobbing.

"America, you have to go. I'll . . . I'll be fine. _Please, _just go," he whispers, holding me close. I shake my head, now hysterical.

"I can't leave you here. They'll get you, Maxon. They'll _kill _you," I whimper. The sound of another gunshot - close - startles both of us. I look down the hallway and see the faintest shadow of someone. I suck in a deep breath. "Come on, now. They're close."

"America, _go. _I'm not telling you again."

"Maxon," I wail, pressing myself against him, unable to pull away. "I can't . . . "

"America," he says my name like it's a gift, like it's something he could never accept. It breaks my heart to pieces. He holds my face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "I love you. And if you mean what you said - that you love me, too - then you need to go. Okay?"

I don't know how to refuse him - not when his face is so strained with worry _for me. _Not for himself - all the blood he's losing, the rebels that will so easily capture him. No, he's only worried for my safety.

"I love you," I say again, giving him a quick kiss. The sound of footsteps growing closer drags me away, and then I'm running.

Running towards the open door, towards the safety Maxon wants so desperately for me. I don't look back, afraid to see a rebel attacking him once again.

When I reach the safe room, I collapse against the floor, sobbing wildly. All the girls, not to mention the King and Queen, look at me. I'm not supposed to be here - this room is for the royalty. The maids are to report to a separate place. Some look at me in disgust, though others look sympathetic.

Queen Amberly rushes over to me, worry stitched in the crevices of her warm face. She's not mad at all that I'm in the wrong safe room, she's only concerned. "Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm . . . I'm fine," I lie, standing up with the help of her welcoming hand. "Thank you, my Queen. Please forgive my presence here. I know I'm not supposed to be here but-"

"Shh," she says, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It's alright. I'm glad you're safe. Come over here and sit with me . . . "

"Oh," I gasp, realizing she's asking for my name. "America."

She smiles at the name and I sense some knowledge behind her gaze. Does she know who I am? Has Maxon _told _her about me? "Well, America, you're alright now. Just sit down and try to relax. Everything is under control. You're safe now."

I may be safe, but Maxon isn't.

I shiver as I sit down beside the queen, his words burning into my mind on repeat. He loves me, and now I'm going to lose him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much to everyone's who been reviewing! I really appreciate the support. Sorry for that painful cliffhanger (I'm a bitch, I know). Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

I've been in the safe room for over an hour, listening to the petty complaints of the Selection Girls and the hushed arguments between soldiers. I've kept to myself, curled up beside the Queen, who's concern for me diminished once she realized her son wasn't safe, yet. The soldiers have been searching for him like crazy, but he's nowhere to be found.

The rebels must have taken him. I can't think of an alternative.

"Attention, please!" One of the guards calls, silencing the hushed chaos. "The rebels have been cleared from the vicinity. It is now safe to leave. We ask that you go immediately to your bedrooms until further notice. Dinner will be brought to you there." The girls slowly pick themselves up and stumble up the stairs. Celeste shoots me a glare before following suit. One of the other girls, Marlee, I think her name is, follows her gaze. Rather than sneer at me like Celeste, she offers a comforting smile. I can't help but return the grin as she continues walking upstairs.

The King and Queen exit through a separate doorway, led by guards, presumably through a passage directly to their chambers. I follow the girls, heading out last.

* * *

I wait in Maxon's room, mindlessly cleaning, hoping that it will somehow bring him back home. I scrub at the window for the eighteenth time when I see a shadow out in the darkness. I toss my rag down and peer outside the window. Earlier, they sent hundreds of soldiers out into the forest in hopes of capturing the rebels. I can clearly see the outline of the guard - the buttons on his uniform shining under the moon - as well as another figure. He's carrying someone, cradling them. The figure is limp, as if dead.

_Maxon. _

I practically dash towards the gardens, ignoring the soldiers that try to stop me from heading out. I start sobbing when I see the soldier approaching, the prince clearly in his arms. I don't even bother to look at the soldier, the sight of Maxon, hurt and unconscious, is too much to bare.

I break out into a sob as the soldier approaches, wrapping my arms around Maxon's listless body. I scream when I feel the steady beating of his heart under my hand, the shaky, warm breaths against my face. He's unconscious, but he's alive.

Guards are running toward us, now aware of the situation. They pull the prince away from me, not even questioning why a _maid _would be crying over the prince. They lift him up and dash back into the palace, presumably towards the hospital wing. I finally gather myself, taking a deep breath. A strong hand places itself on my arm, helping me up. I look up to thank the guard, but the words hang in my throat. I gasp at his strong, lean body. His dark, tousled hair. His piercing green eyes and his worried smile. "America . . . . are you alright?" he asks. His voice is warm and cozy, familiar and comforting in every way.

I swallow hard and meet his eyes, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Aspen," I breath before burying my face in his chest, unable to contain my tears.

* * *

Aspen follows me to my room, careful to look as if he's just a regular guard on duty, making sure a maid returns safely to her chambers after the invasion. When I shut the door behind us, he immediately grabs me by the waist, leaning in, ready to kiss me. I shake my head and pull away, though his lips are so tempting. "Mer?" he asks, tugging gently on my wrist. I lean up against the wall and sink down onto the floor, not sure what to say.

From his short explanation, I've gathered that Aspen got drafted and was sent to the palace just two days ago. He'd been doing basic patrolling until the rebel attack earlier today, when he was sent to woods in search of the rebels, and the Prince. "Apparently I'm one of the fastest runners here," he had joked, explaining to me that he was picked first for the search party.

"I'm glad you found him," I say now, unsure of what else there is to talk about. "I . . . I was worried that he might have died."

"Is that all you're going to say, Mer?" he asks, sitting down on the floor across from me. Our feet touch. "I haven't seen you in months and the first thing you say to me is about _the prince?_" To my surprise, he laughs at this. And then he takes my hand, tracing soft circles with his thumb. "I've missed you so much. You don't understand how hard this has been without you."

"I know," I reply, looking away. "I've missed you too, Aspen. I just . . . I didn't expect you to be here, that's all. I'm in a bit of a shock." That's true, but I'm not so much in shock because of _him. _More because of Maxon. As I walked down the hall, I heard bits and pieces of conversations talking about him and his "fragile state." How, not only does he have a bullet wound in his right leg, but he also has many bruises and scratches, probably from the rebels handling of him. Aspen found him in the middle of the woods while two rebels were arguing what to do with him - whether they should kill him now or keep him for ransom. Aspen came in, beat up the two idiots, tied them to a tree, and then hauled the prince back to safety.

"I can see that," he laughs, tugging at a strand of my hair. "What happened back there, Mer? Why . . . why were you running to help him?"

I gulp, not sure if I'm ready to talk about this. Aspen's eyes stare me down, and I do my best to keep a steady face. "He's the prince. I saw you coming out the window and I knew that Ma - the Prince - must have been hurt. I was just trying to help, that's all."

Aspen takes a sharp breath and shakes his head at me. "Really, Mer? You expect me to believe that?" He runs a hand through his lovely, dark curls and I can't help but sigh. I'd forgotten how beautiful he was. "You were sobbing over him, America . . . Is there something . . . going on between you two?"

I start to deny it, to say that I was just simply emotional from the attack, but it's no use. Aspen knows me too well, he'd see through the lie too easily. After all, at least five guards saw me hysterically grabbing at Maxon - there's no way the word will get out soon. I might as well just face Aspen now. "Yes," I say, looking away. "Maxon and I . . . well, I don't know what we are, but we're something."

Aspen lets out a short laugh. "Mer, he's the _prince. _You're not even in the Selection! What could possibly be going on? Is he using you, America? If he is, you can't le-"

"No, Aspen, he's not using me. And I know that he has a dozen other girls after him, but it doesn't matter. He . . . he told me that he wants _me. _Not one of them," I sigh, unsure of how to say this. Maxon loves me. He's told me indirectly before, but tonight he spoke the words. And I know he'll find a way for us to be together. I have to believe at least that. "I know it sounds stupid, but, I . . . I love him, Aspen. And we're going to make this work."

He looks heartbroken, shocked, and completely confused. I imagine it's how I looked the day he broke up with me, though he covers his emotions much more quickly. "But what about me? I thought you loved me, Mer. 'Cause I still love you."

I pull my hand away and pick at my nails, avoiding his eyes. "I do, Aspen. I'll always love you. You were my first love . . . but I've moved on. We both knew being together was impossible - not with our castes and our families. I've accepted that. You need to, too."

"And you think _this _is possible? This _thing _with the goddamn _Prince? _Are you crazy? He can't marry you, America. He can't even talk to you. You're a Five, not a Two. And you'll never be a One, not with him, at least," he practically screams, shoving himself up off the floor and pointing angrily at me. I retreat back into the wall, curling up into myself. I don't want to hear this right now. Not when Maxon's hurt, when Maxon could be dying. I don't want to worry about _Aspen. _

"Get out of my room," I whisper.

"What?"

"Get _out of my room, _Officer Leger," I say, meeting his eyes with a glare of my own. He looks surprised at my frustration, amused, even. "Now."

He shakes his head, opening up the door. "I thought you were better than that, Mer. Better than those stupid girls who fall for the one guy who they'll never get. But you had me, Mer. You had me."

He closes the door and I'm left alone. Three minutes later, someone knocks on my door. I get ready to yell at Aspen again, to tell him we're done, _forever, _but I'm surprised to find myself face to face with the Queen herself. "Oh," I gasp. "My lady, how can I help you?" I curtsey and she nods, granting me permission to stand.

The look on her face is not one of anger or disgust, but rather one of relief, and surprisingly, happiness. Maxon must be okay. But why would she come to tell me that? What do I matter?

"My son would like to speak with you, America."


	9. Chapter 9

Through the window, I get a clear view of him.

Maxon's lying flat on a hospital bed, wires and IV's tangled all around him. His right leg is propped up on his pillows, wrapped in layers and layers of bandages. His chest is bare and the dark, purplish bruises make me want to gag. His eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow. I silently wonder whether his back is okay - if his mother saw it or not, what rumors are starting to spread.

"Are you su-"

"Please, take your time, America," Amberly says, opening the door for me. "I know you're concerned about this . . . situation, but you shouldn't be. You need to help Maxon through this right now. Everything else will work itself out in the end. I'll be back in a few minutes," the Queen promises before slipping away. I don't even get a curtsey in before she leaves, let alone a "thank you."

I take a deep breath and shut the door behind me. Maxon's eyes flutter at the sound and he immediately pushes himself up. "Oh, God, America!" he cries, though his voice is rough and strained. My eyes flicker around the room but no one's here. Not even the doctor, who I can now see is outside in the hallway. I let myself indulge this moment of privacy. I run to him.

"Oh, Maxon, I was so worried about you," I whisper, kneeling down beside his bed. He tries to sit up completely, but I gently lay a hand on his wrist. "Don't move; you'll only make it worse."

"I want to be able to look at you," he smiles, his eyes only focused on the top half of my head. I laugh and move off the ground and stand above him instead, so that he has a clear view. He cups my face and pulls me in for a kiss, just a simple touch on my lips. "Much better."

"God, Maxon," I breathe, stroking his hair away from his face. There's a long scar running down the length of his cheek. "I'm so, so sorry I left you. I wanted to . . . I thought I could - -"

"Shhh," he hushes me, pressing his finger against my lips. I wrap my hand around his. "It's okay. I'm fine. You're fine. We're both going to be _fine,_" he smiles, squeezing my hand. _  
_

I take a deep breath and study his face. He doesn't seem to be in that much pain - or if he is, he's a very talented actor. His hair is messy but it looks like somebody attempted to wash his body, as it smells faintly of soap. He's practically dressed in bandages; the only real clothing on him is a torn pair of dress pants. His eyes are so full of hope and happiness - you'd think he'd just won the lottery, not been kidnapped by rebels. I absently run my hand down his chest.

"Maxon, your mother . . . what exactly does she know?" I finally ask. I can't avoid it any longer. Queen Amberly is obviously in on this secret.

Maxon sighs and runs a hand through my hair, twirls it around his finger. "Everything, I guess. Apparently she's known all along, since the beginning."

"What? She knew and she didn't _do _anything?"

Maxon gives a short, pained chuckle. "I guess so. Apparently one of my guards told her about some of the, uh, sounds coming from our room. She, uh, investigated the matter further." I can't help but burst out laughing, and he does the same. Until he realizes it hurts - then he tries to suppress it while I cover my red cheeks.

"And what of your father? Does he know, too?" The thought makes me want to cry. King Clarkson is not a friendly man, to say the least. If he can torture his own son, imagine what he'd do to an unimportant maid. I shiver at the thought.

"No. My mother knows what would happen to you if he knew. She's kept it a secret."

"Why?" I wonder. What could possibly be her motive? The give Maxon a bit of happiness before he gets married to a woman he doesn't love? To build up proof to use against me later? Is she on our side, or against us?

Maxon smiles, cupping my face with his hands. His touch makes my cheeks go hot. "She wants to help us, America," he exclaims. "She doesn't think it's fair that I should have to marry someone I don't love. She doesn't believe in the Selection."

"But she met your father through the Selection! How can she not _believe_ in it?"

"She thinks it was just a lucky coincidence. She knows it's impossible for every prince to meet their true love through a raffle. It's a ridiculous notion, really," he smirks. I lean over and kiss the top of his nose for no reason at all.

"You're not kidding are you?" I murmur, still leaning in close to his lips. He shakes his head subtly before pulling me in a kissing me again, much longer and sweeter this time. I shift so that I'm supporting myself on top of him, careful not to hurt him. His arms secure me in place, wrapping around my waist and not giving me the chance to pull away from him. I melt against his mouth and practically cry from how good this feels. "I was so worried I'd never get to kiss you again," I smile against his lips, which only makes him kiss me again.

"I hate to interrupt," someone says, making me jump away in fright. But when I look towards the door, it's only the Queen, standing there with a gentle smile on her face. Maxon's face relaxes at the sight of his mother and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "But we really do need to talk."

"Of course, Mother," Maxon says, trying to sound formal, though the grin won't slide off of his face.

"As I'm sure Maxon's told you, I want to help you, America," she says to me, walking inside with more grace than I could ever possess. "But it's not going to be easy. The King cannot find out under _any _circumstances or he'll kill you. Do you understand?" I gulp at the thought, but nod in understanding. Maxon inhales sharply. He gives my hand another squeeze before gesturing for his mother to continue. "The key to succeeding with this, to putting and end to The Selection and giving you the freedom to choose your wife will be the public." The way she looks at me on the word _wife _makes me jump. It all seems so real, so possible. It's not just a fantasy anymore - it's becoming a reality. "The public, though they adore the Selection, will do anything for a good love story. If we can find a way to proclaim your, well 'star-crossed' love story to all of Illéa, they're sure to support you."

"But what about the King?"

"If the King finds out with the rest of the public, he can't do anything about it. If he kills you, he'll start an uproar. He'd rather keep his country in line than worry about his son's love life," the Queen laughs. The sound is like music, which only enhances my vision of the Queen as an unearthly figure.

"So all we have to do is announce it to the world? That's it? You really think it will work?" Maxon asks. His forehead practically has HOPEFUL written across it. I fight back the urge to cry of happiness.

"It's not that simple, but, yes, in short. We'll figure out the details later, once you've had your rest, Maxon," the Queen says, rising. "If all goes well, the Selection will be over on Friday."

"Friday?" Maxon and I both repeat at the same time, shocked by the notion. That's only a week away. We don't have enough time - it's practically impossible.

"Yes," the Queen smiles, now standing at the door. "We're going to announce it on the Report."

* * *

**Sorry for such a long wait. It's been a long week. Anyway, hope this wasn't too Hunger-Gamesish with the whole "star-crossed, public loves it" kind of thing. I didn't really think of that parallel until after I had wrote it. There are only a few chapters left before the end! Thank you again for everybody who's reviewed, followed, and favorited. I really appreciate it! Next chapter will be up within a week of so!**


	10. Chapter 10

It's Friday, and I'm terrified.

Maxon, the Queen, and I have been working tirelessly during the whole week. We've had secret meetings to discuss what should happen tonight, what might happen tonight, and what _can't _happen tonight. Queen Amberly's arranged for there to be a segment on the report tonight for Maxon to talk freely, without interruption. It's then that he will pronounce the end of the Selection, as well as his love for me. The Queen's even figured out a way to sneak me into room so that I can be with Maxon on screen. She's even had a custom dress made for me to wear tonight. Maxon picked out the color, blue, saying that it'd compliment my hair. The dress is hidden in his closet.

I make my way down the corridor to his room, carrying a broom and some other cleaning materials. After all, I'm still his "personal maid." Nobody's going to suspect anything if it looks like I'm just going to clean his room. I reach the door and the guards posted outside let me in without question. I smile and walk inside, breathing a sigh of relief. I've gotten through the day alone, but now I have Maxon to help me through the night. And hopefully, the rest of my life.

Maxon's pacing the length of his room. He immediately stops in his tracks when he sees me there and smiles. I drop the cleaning supplies at the door and practically run to him. It's not like I saw him this morning or anything. But still. There's something about the weight of tonight that just enhances my need for him.

He scoops me up into his arms and kisses me for a long time. I love every moment of it, the way his lips feel against mine, the way his hands rake up and down my waist, the soft sounds that escape his throat every few seconds. I finally pull away and press my forehead against his, to which he responds, "Why so short, America?"

I laugh and nudge him in the side. "If everything goes right tonight, we'll have plenty of time to do _that _later." The thought makes me blush. The idea of getting to be with him - kiss him, hold him, touch him - all the time, without secrecy, makes me warm.

"Indeed we will, dear," he says, squeezing my hand gently. "But right now, let's get ready." He pulls away and walks towards his closet. He pulls out a gorgeous blue dress, one with layers and layers of fabric on the skirt in a ruffled pattern. The top is form fitted with a bit of fabric sticking out in an elaborate design.

"Oh, Maxon," I exclaim as he holds it out for me. I haven't seen it yet - Queen Amberly only told me she's gotten it. "It's beautiful. I can't . . . I can't just walk around the castle _in that." _The plan was for me to simply blend in with the rest of the crowd going to watch the report. But I can't go in dressed like . . . like a princess. I'll attract too much attention.

"Don't worry. A guard is going to personally escort you inside once the Report has started. No one will notice you're there until it's time," he says, having it all figured out. "Now, come on, put it on. I've been dying to see you in it all week."

I shake my head but do as he says. I start to take off my uniform, but am stopped by his gentle hands on my back. "Here," He whispers, brushing his lips against my neck. "Let me do it." I fight back the urge to turn around and kiss him, grab him, pull him onto the bed as he unzips my dress and helps to slide it off my body. I immediately move to cover my bra with my hands, feeling slightly embarrassed. But he doesn't make any mention of my unimpressive body - he just grabs the blue dress and slides it over my head. His hands are comforting as he pulls the dress until it lays right, as he zips it up. When he's done, I turn around to face him. He gasps at the sight of me and I can't help but smile. His eyes are devouring me, full of love and adoration I've never seen before. Nobody, not even Aspen, has ever looked at me like that.

"Oh, America," he whispers, running his hands through my hair so that it rests neatly across one shoulder. "You look beautiful."

"Why, thank you, Your Majesty," I smirk, biting my lip to prevent myself from kissing him.

"I hate it when you call me that," he says, rolling his eyes.

"I know," I agree, looking down at my hands entwined in his. "But you also kind of like it."

"Yeah," he admits, looking away. "It's sexy."

I raise an eyebrow and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my face right in front of his. He inhales. "Let me dress you, Your Majesty," I whisper. He leans in to close the distance, but I pull away, teasing him. I can practically hear his disappointment. Note to self: Royal Titles are a definite turn-on.

I walk back over and pull out a suit, a navy blue on that his mother picked out for tonight. I set it down on the bed and then move my hands down Maxon's chest, slowly, teasingly unbuttoning his shirt. He sucks in a deep breath as I get lower and I can feel his desire against me. I smirk but don't give him the luxury of meeting his eyes. Instead I slip his shirt off and carefully slide the new one on, buttoning it just as slowly. He growls in frustration and I laugh again.

Then I move to work on his pants, which will be all the more fun. But Maxon's hands stop me and push me aside. "I think I'm better off getting ready alone," He says, turning away to pull down his pants. I laugh at him - he's so malleable when it comes to this kind of stuff. It's easy to get him a bit . . . . frustrated.

When he turns back to me, now slipping his arms into his suit jacket, his cheeks are still red from embarrassment. "That was not nice, America. I might have to reconsider tonight's decision," he jokes, leaning up against the wall.

I roll my eyes and walk over to him, grabbing a comb off his desk. His hair is so wonderfully disheveled. "Yeah, I'm sure that's going to happen," I say as I comb through his hair, parting it to the side and making it look a bit more, well, princely. "There. Ready?"

"Not in the least," he says, taking my hand in both of his. "I'm terrified, America. For you, for us. For how my father will react . . . What if my mother's wrong? What if the people object to my decision to end the Selection? And what about the girls? Oh, so many things can go wrong!" he confides.

"But they won't," I say. It's a lie - anything could happen tonight - but I need to comfort him. If he's not calm for this, we have no hope. "I trust you and I trust your mother. We're going to be fine, Maxon."

"And if we're not?"

"Then we'll figure it out." I place a gentle kiss on his forehead before stepping aside. It's nearly time for him to go. "I love you, Maxon."

"And I will always love you, America. No matter what happens tonight," he says. His eyes are slightly red and I'm worried he's going to cry. I have to fight the urge to hold him, to kiss him. He needs to go.

"No matter what," I repeat. He gives me a stiff nod before turning away and heading to the door. He opens it and closes it without looking back. I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding and sit down.

And I wait for the guard to come get me, to take me to seal our fate.

* * *

**Sorry it took a while to update. I might not get another chapter in for two weeks, as it's AP testing as well as tech for two of my shows. Also, THE ONE COMES OUT IN A WEEK! That does not mean this fic is over. I will definitely continue to update this, as it is an AU. If I add anything in it that relates to The One, there will be a spoiler warning. But, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you WILL enjoy The One. Let's all pray that Maxmerica is endgame! Thanks for reading :)**

AND YES, THE DRESS SHE'S WEARING IS THE ONE ON THE COVER OF THE SELECTION.


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